Margaritaville Horrors

I wasn’t planning to blog this cruise. Truly, I wasn’t.
But this trip practically begged to be documented — partly because it’s chaos, partly because it’s comedy, and partly because I need proof that I survived it. So here we are.

Welcome to Margaritaville at Sea — where Jimmy Buffett lives on, the colors are loud, the parrots are plenty, and my ice-less Diet Coke dreams died before noon.

🚢 First Impressions: No Ice and No Pizza… The Camel’s Back Snaps
Let’s start with the big one:
There was no ice.

None. Zero. Nothing but lukewarm disappointment.

And right behind that came the shocking realization:
No pizza.
On a ship with three pizza ovens. My inner Italian cried.

When I finally tracked down the pizza later, it came out scalding hot with giant tomato chunks hiding under the cheese like lava bombs. Hot enough to file a burn claim. Delicious? Eh. Let’s call it “memorable.”

The lunch options? Picture a sad buffet that looked like it had been set up last Christmas and never fully cleared. The lunch meat alone had me saying silent prayers.

😬 The Dining Room Layout: A Choose-Your-Own-Adventure of Confusion
The dining area was choppy, full of long lines in the few places that were actually open. Meanwhile, the places that weren’t open stood there mocking me.

Check-in itself was fast — credit where due.
But the lack of an app meant we were old-schooling it all day. Want to know what’s happening onboard? Hope your psychic abilities are strong.